Title: The Queen of Corona
Author:
Date: 02 Nov 14 (Sunday in the PM)
Copyright:
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Time: 1 minute
Replies: 11
Revisions: 11
Publicity: Workshop
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I flew down to the concrete park by the schoolyard. Hoopsters gettin’ their game on. A breeze pushed off some warm summer air.

Julio had one foot up on a bench, sporting a bandana, tube socks with two green stripes going around his shins and calves. High tops, tongue out. Forearms resting on his knee, right over left. A Corona dangling between the fingers of his right hand. We drank gold everyday that summer.

I slowed as I ran up. “J –”

“Ace – yes.” He hollered to the court, “Game on, boys!”

“No, J, I’m not playin’.”

“What? Tie ’em up, son. Your laces are dragging.”

I was out of breath. “Look, the cops man. Her dad, he found out. Her mom caught us in bed this morning. People freaking out in their pajamas. I climbed out the fire escape and had to drop ten feet.”

“Rosie?”

“Yeah. I’m done, man. The cops.”

Julio’s eyes widened. He leaned back and let out some air, “It’s against the law, bro.” He opened his arms and shook his head, “You knew it was against the law.”

“She said her mama spits on the ground when she hears my name.”

“Boy, a month ago I told you her daddy was gonna put your ass in a house of detention.”

“Damn! I’m outta here.”

“Where you gonna go?”

“I’m just gonna get on my way. I don’t know where I’m going. I’ll take some time. I don’t know where.”

“In a couple of days they’ll find you – that’s it, take you away.”

I schemed. “Not if we get the press to leak it. That radical preacher – he’d see it and get me released. The law’s bullshit. It’s an arbitrary line. Pays no respect to love. They’ve talked about undoing it.”

“The press and that preacher man? Yeah, if you wanna be all up on the cover of Newsweek. Don’t mention my name.” He handed me a beer and called out, “Goodbye, Rosie!”

Revisions

Elk » Authorship
Elk » 11:03 AM 15 Jan 15
Elk » 9:08 PM 10 Nov 14
Elk » 2:10 PM 03 Nov 14
Elk » 1:19 PM 03 Nov 14
Elk » 7:43 AM 03 Nov 14
Elk » 10:56 PM 02 Nov 14
Elk » 10:55 PM 02 Nov 14
Elk » 10:54 PM 02 Nov 14
Elk » 9:56 PM 02 Nov 14

The Thread (11)

 Author's voice in grey. 

  1. Fast forward to the courtroom:

    Well she was just seventeen

    You know what I mean

    And the way she looked

    Was way beyond compare

  2. Fast forward again to the jailhouse —

    She ain’t but seventeen

    But she’s my rider

  3. And another fast forward to his posthumously published memoirs:

    Rosie, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Rose-Ie: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of two steps down the palate to tap, at two, on the teeth. Rose. Ie. She was Rose, plain Rose, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Rose in slacks. She was ‘Sie at school. She was Rosalita on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Rosie. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Rosie at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Rosie was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

  4. Prior to the memoir he leads a rock band, partly to pay the bills, partly to continue advancing his case —

    And Rosalita, jump a little lighter

    Senorita, come sit by my fire

    I just want to be your lover, ain’t no liar

    Rosalita, you’re my stone desire

    All right

    Now, I know your mama, she don’t like me ’cause I play in a rock and roll band

    And I know your daddy, he don’t dig me, but he never did understand

    Your papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room

    I’m coming to lend a hand

    I’m coming to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man

    Someday we’ll look back on this and maybe it will all seem funny

    But now you’re sad, your mama’s mad

    And your papa says he knows that I don’t (have any money)

    Well tell him this is his last chance

    To get his daughter in a fine romance

    Because the record company, Rosie, just gave me a big advance

  5. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s Paul Simon, Paul McCartney, Robert Plant, and Bruce Springsteen — 2 to 2, British to Ameican. So what role for Nabakov in a tiebreaker?

  6. Somewhere Nabakov is smiling.

    Make that Diane Keaton via Woody Allen now too.

  7. Paul, Bruce, Dianne, and Woody all fit together in my head — NYC.

  8. Meet you all the way, Rosanna yeah.

  9. Actually, Paul Simon did make it into Annie Hall. Somehow though I’m not sure how Bruce fits in.

  10. Doesn’t take much to get Rosanna stuck in my head. What an ear worm that one is.

  11. Bruce? 110% Jersey, and what’s NYC’s is Jersey’s. Specifically not vice versa.

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